The King of Forever

by Kirby Crow

  “We, or you, my lord?”

  “I was in command. It doesn’t matter. People died, isn’t that enough? I didn’t even have the luxury of calling it war. Kasiri are bandits, not soldiers.” Liall found his chair and sat heavily. “I chose to be a criminal. I chose to be a brute because it was easier than remembering who I really was and trying to live up to it.” I feel old, he thought.

  “A crime against foreigners would hardly be considered a crime here, sire,” Alexyin pointed out.

  “Because lenilyn are not truly people and have no rights. Yes, I know. I’ve heard that a thousand times already and so has Scarlet, poor lad. Scarlet knows me in a way that you or my people never will. I treated him terribly when we met, did you know? No, I suppose that story never made it here. I treated him badly, being the man I was then. I frightened him. I attempted to misuse him. I even threatened his life. He knew me at my worst, and he saw through it and fell in love with me anyway. That is a rare gift, Alexyin, for another person to see every ugliness in you and still be able to find that part of you that they can love, that can love them back. Scarlet forced me to see what I had become. At the cost of everything he knew and loved before me, he brought me back to myself. The debt I owe him cannot be repaid by taking a wife and putting her in his rightful place.”

  Alexyin’s cold expression changed. “You fear this marriage more than he does.”

  Liall shrugged. “I fear losing what is most precious to me. To me, Alexyin. You and Jochi and everyone else think I’m stalling merely to spare Scarlet’s feelings, but it’s much more than that. I lost myself as a Kasiri once, I could easily do the same again as a king. Scarlet expects the best of me, so I try my damnedest not to disappoint him. Is that so wrong?”

  It was several moments before Alexyin replied. “I owe your t’aishka an apology, I think.”

  Liall’s interest was piqued. “Why? Did you argue?” Scarlet had said nothing of it, if they had. But then, he wouldn’t.

  Alexyin pulled a chair up and sat. “No, we have not argued,” he sighed. “We have not said much of anything to each other.”

  “Scarlet does not need words to know what a man is thinking. He’s deeply intuitive. All his folk are.”

  Alexyin looked uncomfortable. “That might be why we distrust them so.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “If he hadn’t gone out with Cestimir that day—”

  Liall’s hand cut the air. “No. Don’t say it. Vladei’s heart was set toward murdering my brother long before Scarlet arrived. If there is blame, it is all mine. My mother warned me about Vladei. I knew he was a threat, but it was my past that stayed my hand.” He closed his eyes. “I did not want to be called Kinslayer again. I did not want Vladei’s blood on my hands, so I allowed him to live. That’s how I’m repaid for mercy.” He looked at Alexyin. “Have you said anything to Scarlet about Cestimir?”

  “I’m not a fool, my lord.”

  Liall nodded. “Do not ever. He took Cestimir’s death very hard. He blames himself enough for ten of you.”

  “One day, you must forgive yourself for Nadei, my lord. It has been more than sixty years. He is at peace now.”

  “Is he? I’m not so sure. I would not rest easy if it were him on my throne, in my place, and my body entombed in ice in the Kingsdal.” Liall loosened the collar of his virca and leaned back in his chair. “If Ressanda is serious about withholding his men, we are in deep trouble. Jarek has thirty thousand soldiers at the ready, but I can’t bleed off the entire army northward and leave Nau Karmun undefended. Sul will give us five thousand more, but I need another five thousand from Uzna. The barony of Uzna Minor has enough to defend their borders, but none to spare. That leaves me twenty thousand short. The eastern baronies have those men to spare, but they will only send them if Baron Ressanda openly allies with me. They will follow his lead.”

  “Will Uzna Minor support you?”

  “My dear step-brother Eleferi will do whatever his sweet wife tells him to do.”

  Alexyin’s mouth curved. “And how is the Lady Shikhoza?”

  “Simmering, although she seems to have recovered from her court banishment.” Shikhoza had been given the choice to either wed Eleferi or be exiled to Hnir or S’geth or as far away as Liall could pack her. “After her association with Vladei, I could not have her in the palace. I’d as soon have trusted Vladei to continue living here.”

  “So the answer is no.”

  Liall gave Alexyin a wry smile. “Perhaps you do not remember the Lady. Tall, golden-haired, all the sweet sensitivity of a viper? Never mind that it’s greatly in the interest of her lands to uphold the crown, if she thinks withdrawing her support would stick a pin in me, she might well do it. If it were a lesser matter, she’d do it just for spite, but the Ava Thule are a deadly serious business. Her lands are in danger as well. She will convince Eleferi to send the soldiers I ask for, but there will be a price.”

  “Ah,” Alexyin said archly. “When is there not? Do you think she wants to return to court?”

  “Perhaps. She may have become accustomed to Uzna Minor by now. It’s no small city. She can play the supreme lady in a way she never could here.” Liall sniffed his disdain and sighed once more. “I think I’ll go practice with my swords. Fighting always clears my head.”

  Alexyin stood. “Shall I come with you?”

  “No,” Liall said. “But you can tell Scarlet I will be late. Will you do that for me?”

  Alexyin bowed. “Of course. Good night, my lord.”

  Liall hoped Alexyin would make good use of the opportunity to amend his relationship with Scarlet. Both men mourned Cestimir, though Scarlet’s heart was not as rent as Alexyin’s. Both suffered from guilt over the manner of Cestimir’s murder. Perhaps if Alexyin forgave Scarlet, they could start again.

  For Liall’s part, there was nothing to forgive.

  He stood and took up his cloak, thinking of the little brother he had barely known before Vladei had murdered him. If anyone is to blame for Cestimir’s death, I am.

  He should have acted sooner. He would not make the same mistake again. Ressanda would do well to beware.

  ***

  The floor was sawdust and sand layered on rough stone. Liall could feel the scrape of it beneath his boots, and the uneven ruts between the paving stones waiting to catch his heels and trip him. Nevoi said that too many sword-fighters wound up dead because they were accustomed to fighting on a level floor.

  The room Nevoi had chosen to spar in today was in a long corridor of the stables below the palace armory. The ceiling was low and Liall could hear horses stamping their hooves and restless in their stalls. They were warhorses and the sound of clashing blades never failed to stir their blood.

  “Again!”

  Liall’s breath whistled in his throat as he brought his sword up to guard. Nevoi was not even winded, damn him. The man was also swift and damnably difficult to see in the dim lantern light.

  Nevoi lunged, making Liall leap back as the point of Nevoi’s sword stabbed toward his belly. He had begun learning with blunted blades, but that lasted for one day only. When the swordmaster realized that Liall took too many risks during sparring, and was fond of high, slashing arcs that left his body open to attack, he had removed the blunted blades.

  “You’re lazy,” he had told Liall scornfully. “You’ve gotten soft, fighting little lenilyn all those years. You might have gotten away with those flashy techniques when your opponents were a head shorter than you, but you won’t do it with me. A good cut or two will remind you that this isn’t about pretty dancing with a blade in your hand. It’s about survival.”

  Liall had nursed several small, artfully-placed slashes the first week, then he had learned better.

  He turned to follow Nevoi’s feint to the right and slashed. Nevoi danced effortlessly out of his reach.

  “Stand still, damn you,” Liall snarled.

  Nevoi laughed. He was younger than Liall by half a century, with merry
blue eyes and a wicked grin that Liall swore would fit better on a Minh pirate. He was several inches shorter than Liall, with a slightly round face and snubbed nose below a mane of silvery hair that he kept tied tightly at the nape of his neck. When unbound, Nevoi’s thick hair came down to his shoulders and framed his face in jagged bangs. He reminded Liall of a white tiger he’d seen caged in Ankar.

  They made another turn at each other, Nevoi stabbing, dodging back, spinning on the ball of his foot like a dancer. Liall panted, holding his own but knowing he’d be no match for Nevoi if they ever fought in earnest. Liall had killed more men in battle than Nevoi had years, but Nevoi was in the full flush of youthful strength and could do this all day.

  “Enough!” Liall dropped his stance and took a step back. Nevoi deftly spun and slammed the pommel of his sword into Liall’s stomach. Liall coughed and bent over.

  “What did I tell you?” The merry glint was gone from Nevoi’s eyes.

  Liall straightened up, rubbing the ache in his belly. “Never drop my guard until you have dropped yours.”

  Nevoi nodded. His scowl was forbidding.

  “Am I still such a disappointment, ser?”

  “You were never a disappointment, my lord,” Nevoi said, sliding easily from the role of swordmaster to subject. “Only somewhat vexing.”

  Liall grinned. “You’ve been talking to Scarlet again.”

  “Your t’aishka is an apt pupil and never forgets a lesson. I have not had to mark him as I have you, sire. He has no need of the same correction twice. If he were not so small, he would be a formidable enemy with a blade in his hand, or two of them, as he prefers. Did he ever say who taught him?”

  “You haven’t asked?” Privately, Liall had always assumed that Nevoi believed his king had taught Scarlet how to use the double Morturii long-knives.

  “I know it wasn’t you.” At Liall’s look, Nevoi laughed. “Your pardon, sire, but he never learned those dirty moves from a Rshani warrior. My guess is that it was someone from considerably lower birth with a considerably higher desire for survival, not to mention a hazardous occupation. I’ve known Khetian raiders with more scruples than ser Keriss with a long-knife in his hand.”

  Liall was pleased. “He tasked you, did he? Good.”

  “Only the first day. I will not discourage him from such low methods, either. He’s small and needs every edge he can get. By the Shining Ones, he’s fast, sire. No swordmaster taught him that. That’s all him.”

  Liall crossed the small sparring space and placed his sword into Nevoi’s waiting hand. “It’s all Hilurin. Most of the young ones are quick, but he has a true gift, I grant you. The man who taught him was named Rannon, I believe. A Morturii karwaneer.”

  Nevoi tilted his head in interest.

  Liall knew that Nevoi would not ask further without invitation. It would be impolite to question a king so. “A master of trade caravans. In the south they trade between Morturii and Byzantur, and the lands between Minh and beyond,” he supplied. “It’s a dangerous life. Scarlet rode with them for half a year.”

  Nevoi’s eyebrows went up. “How old was he?”

  “Fifteen or so.”

  “So young as that?” Nevoi picked up an oil-cloth.

  “You disapprove?”

  “Not precisely, sire.” Nevoi oiled the blades swiftly and replaced them in their leather sheaths. “I know something of Byzantur custom. I’m surprised he was allowed to take to the road at such an age.”

  “He had the wilding.”

  “Ah!” Nevoi smiled. “That explains it. I knew he was different. He loves the mechanics of sword fighting rather than the pure art of it, but for different reasons than most men. For him, it is a skill like making fire or mending your boots: something one needs to sustain life.”

  “If only you knew how well he could make fire,” Liall said cryptically. Again, Nevoi turned that arch look on him. “You’d heard my ship was attacked at sea during the crossing? Scarlet set the sails of the Minh ship afire from the deck of our brigantine. I had not looked for him during the frenzy and blood of the battle, but suddenly he was there and then the sails were on fire. He has never confessed it, but later... I put it together.”

  “I have heard of Hilurin magic,” Nevoi said thoughtfully, “but I did not know it was so strong. Interesting.”

  “How so?”

  “To attack across a distance longer than a man’s reach of sword or spear is forbidden in Byzantur and Morturii. To carry a bow is a death sentence for most men. But if a man used magic...”

  Liall nodded slowly. It made perfect sense. “I marvel that I haven’t realized it before. Those laws are old, perhaps back to the time when the Hilurin first journeyed south and landed on the shores of Byzantur. I can see where a law meant to forbid the use of magic could be translated into a law forbidding ranged weapons, after that magic has been hidden and forgotten for centuries. Scarlet was shocked when it happened, and frightened. I don’t think he even meant to do it.”

  “Such a skill would make ser Keriss a powerful adversary indeed. It’s a talent that could save his life, if he honed it well.”

  “You think he should try?”

  “I think he is strong, but even if he were the strongest Hilurin in all the world, a Rshani opponent could snap his neck like a kitten. If the man could ever lay hands on him.”

  “If,” Liall agreed. Again, Nevoi made sense. The swordmaster was a valuable man, indeed.

  “I will consider it,” Liall promised, “but for now, I must take my leave of you.” He bowed shortly to Nevoi, student to master. “I thank you for the instruction.”

  Nevoi bowed back, much lower than Liall. He only allowed Liall to forget who was king when they were on the practice floor. “My lord honors me.”

  They parted and Liall wished he could go immediately to Scarlet, to see the smile on his face and touch the softness of his skin. The intense attraction he had felt for Scarlet in the beginning had never faded, not even a little. Now, more than ever, he yearned to be with him, but one more matter required his attention.

  He found the fire dying down in his solar. The guard lit some candles for him, threw four logs on the hearth, and left with a bow. Liall poured pale green wine into a cup. He sat and drank slowly, thinking over what he must say. When he’d finished two cups, he took a deep breath and found a sheet of vellum.

  It was not every day that he summoned an Ancient to the Nauhinir.

  Fire and Burning

  Dvi, the cook, waited by the table and held a chair for him. Scarlet frowned. No matter how often he told Nenos that such things were unnecessary, the polite old steward would smile and nod and then go about doing things the way he had always done them.

  When he complained to Liall about how awkward it made him feel to have a chair held for him—a thing only done for women and the elderly in Scarlet’s experience—Liall had shrugged.

  “Nenos runs my household in the manner he thinks best,” he had said. “On some matters, he won’t be moved. Unlike your homeland, there are no slaves here. Men and women serve by choice, and capable servants are most valued. They can also make life very difficult if they wish to. It would not be easy to convince him that his methods are incorrect.”

  So Scarlet sighed and took the chair Dvi held for him. The dining hall was less formal than the one in their old chambers, thank the gods. Still, it was luxurious by his standards, and huge. The meal laid out on the trestle table was a variety of spiced dumplings stuffed with ginger pork or fruit jam. It was a dish he often requested, but one that Liall did not care for. Word that the king would not be dining with him must have reached the servants.

  Dvi served the che in silence. A guard entered the room and signaled to Dvi, who bowed and left to speak with him. He returned in moments.

  “You have a visitor, ser,” he told Scarlet.

  Scarlet sipped the che and wondered if he should send for wine instead. At least he’d be able to sleep. “Who?”

  “I
hope you will forgive this intrusion.” Alexyin appeared in the doorway, his hands clasped and his spine stiff.

  “I already know the king isn’t coming,” Scarlet sighed. “He didn’t have to send you.” His leg ached and he made a conscious effort not to rub it. His arm had healed quickly, but it had only been bruises and scrapes there. The gash on his leg was deep and it had hurt more than he let Liall know.

  Alexyin glanced at the sparse meal on the table. “The king sends his apologies. He is delayed.”

  His voice was neutral, as always. Scarlet waved his hand at the dishes. “Are you hungry? It’s a shame to waste it.” He turned over a cup and poured green che into the porcelain. The steam had the scent of roses. “Liall likes this kind. A southern blend, he calls it. We had some when we were with the Kasiri. It’s still my favorite.” He pushed the cup forward and looked at Alexyin expectantly.

  Alexyin sat down like he was lowering himself into a mud puddle. He put one finger on the cup but did not drink. “Thank you, ser.”

  Scarlet held back a sigh. I’ve heard warmer thanks from farmers I gouged for the price of a whetstone.

  “Cheers.” He toasted Alexyin and sipped.

  Alexyin inclined his head in response but still did not drink.

  “You don’t like me much, do you?”

  That was too blunt for Alexyin. “If I’ve given offense, I hope the king’s t’aishka will forgive me,” he said formally.

  “Oh, stop it,” Scarlet said in disgust. “You don’t like me. You never have. I didn’t know why at first, and now it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you like me or not. I do care that you think I don’t grieve for Cestimir.” Scarlet put a hand on his chest and spoke earnestly. He might not get another chance to talk to Alexyin like this, man-to-man. “Please believe me, Alexyin. I tried to get away, to run for help, but Melev was there and he prevented me. I...” He gestured helplessly. “I wasn’t strong enough to save Cestimir. By all the gods, I swear to you that I wanted to.”